


Sight

by misbehavingvigilante



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 17:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbehavingvigilante/pseuds/misbehavingvigilante
Summary: She knows now more than anything that her love isn’t armor. The people she loves can die, and there’s nothing she can do about that.





	Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the first half of this was written like six months ago until late last night I finished off the rest. So it's probably a bit wonky in some places, and I'm sure the tenses are off, but you know what regardless I love it? 
> 
> The first Dishonored game is really hard so I've never finished it myself but I've watched several walkthroughs. What I always loved most of all was the relationship between Emily and Corvo. I'm a sucker for the rat family and there isn't nearly enough fic dedicated to them. 
> 
> That said, I have probably read all of gen available so I was definitely inspired by various wonderful stories but I still gave it my own spin. I was also really inspired by the heart line of "She sees more than she is telling. Young Lady Emily."
> 
> Anyways, I hope my additional tags were enough warning for this piece? If you feel like there's something else I should add or elaborate on please let know me.

Emily remembers the assassins, she remembers the man with the scar.

Most of all she remembers how they appeared and vanished an amalgamation of both ash and shadow. She thought she had still been dreaming, just a terrible, terrible nightmare that ended with her mother’s death and herself captured like a prized pawn.

But she never wakes.

She sees it again another day well within what safety their makeshift hideout has brought them.

Only this time Corvo is the one doing it. One moment, Corvo is there within her sight, near the hounds pit pub but not in a good line of sight from any of the windows. And she had personally saw through each one so she would know the moment Corvo would return with the kindly boatman. She is about to call out to him when he simply vanishes the next. Her voice dies in her throat from shock, because no, Corvo can’t leave her too. Without thinking, she sprints to the fencing surrounding stairs towards the Wrenhaven.

There is a figure on a cropping of rocks near the water’s edge that looks completely dry despite there being no way to reach that without a swim with the hagfishes. It’s Corvo, but he had just been in through of her.

It’s as if he bridged the distance by some unseen force.

It isn’t a sight Emily’s meant to see, but then she argues neither was she ever supposed to witness her Mother’s murder either. The world is full of things you’re never supposed to see and yet do.

Though, it’s arguably a lot less traumatic than what happened to her mother. Fear clutches at Emily’s young heart all the same, she doesn’t understand what she saw, and it brings her back to that day. She doesn’t know what’s going on.

All she knows is Corvo did something that shouldn’t be possible.

Is it like the rat plague? Does it only require the barest taint before it boils your insides apart? No, Corvo can’t die, Corvo can’t leave her so she pushes against the thought with all the mental force she can manage.

Corvo is her only friend left now.

Those hiding in this pub with her could never have her loyalty or love like Corvo does. Always a constant and reassuring figure in her life even if some people had found him imposing or turned their nose up at him like he was someone – something – lesser.

Mother had always try to gently explain it to her but it was never something Emily could understand. How couldn’t people like Corvo? But Emily always reminded the tightness around her mother’s eyes when she was forced to explain like she was carrying a sea deep sadness.

Emily doesn’t know if her mother ever knew, she was always quick to praise and welcome her insight and never dismissed it as the musings of a simple child to be ignored like some people treated her.

Emily had always seen more than she shares. Sometimes the words come flowing out of her a brimming, bright thing as if her own tongue is beyond her control, but other times her mouth is shut as if under lock with a key even she cannot find.

Perhaps it’s because of Corvo, she knows he can speak but it not something he does regularly. Often preferring to encourage people that he is entirely mute rather than be social as if they are not worthy of hearing him speak. Maybe it’s one of the few tools he has against the people who don’t like him, to deprive them of his words so that they shall freely speak their private thoughts alone so he is never off-guard to where their hearts lie?

This is one of the moments where she can’t speak but somehow finds the strength to walk back into the hounds pit pub and back into her room. She knows how to be sneaky, it’s second nature now to listen for footfalls and how best to avoid the creak fall in wooden floors.

Emily sends herself to bed and she can’t help but think her mother would be proud of her. She never willingly went to bed early, nor without supper but she does both that night.

 

 

 

Emily wakes and she still doesn’t have any answers.

She doesn’t know what she expected, how sleep could help her make sense of the impossible but at least well rested she can think more.

That had happened late afternoon, another hour or two before dinner would have been served so she hadn’t been especially tired. Even the lessons that Callista had taught her earlier on that day had the most attention she could give to a sole task so she hadn’t been daydreaming either.

So just like what happened on the pavilion, it couldn’t have been something she merely imagined.

So where goes she goes from here?

Emily knows if she asks Corvo he probably won’t tell her the truth. He’s been secretive lately like all the adults have not so subtly using Callista to move her out of a room when they wish to talk with something not fit for her ears.

If she’s going to be Empress, they might as well tell her the full truth. It’s likely because they want to treat her gently, like they would a child.

A child she may be but she feels unbelievably aged after watching the sword plunge itself into her mother’s stomach and a river of blood tainting the white tiles of the pavilion. Some nights she dreams about what would have been different, if her mother had only been saved that day but would she have died the next or shortly after?

The threat from outside the walls was funded by those within, the people meant to be on their side.

Maybe there is magic in this world, but Emily fears that will never bring her mother back to her.  

Belatedly, she realizes that Callista is not here. Somewhat of a strange occurrence as often Callista didn’t stray far from her side given her duties reigning over her education. The schedule Callista set for her had been quite strict in the beginning, probably because they assumed that as a child she’d respond better to a schedule, some semblance of normalcy after the horrors she’s endured.

But Emily wasn’t an ordinary child. Perhaps it was just due to her upbringing, what others would see as a spoilt child never given a firm hand in her life of luxury, or maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it is, Emily knew that strict schedules crawled under her skin, little bugs leaving her restless and pushing her mind outwards instead of inwards that it was difficult to give her focus.

She needs time to herself, time to have freedom to run around or scale a tree, anything to get rid of the excess energy she always has, people were always surprised she still hadn’t grown out of yet. More than that, she needed something of a flexible schedule an understanding, she couldn’t always force her mind to agree with her at the set times every day.

How she’d ever be Empress with all those quirks, Emily didn’t know. She was never supposed to have to worry about that at such a young age, anyways.

Callista had ever noted her misbehavior tampered off when she dialed by the structures a bit or most likely, Corvo told her because Corvo was like that. He knew what to do even when someone for whatever reason didn’t tell him what the problem was.

Emily thinks, her mother probably liked that best about Corvo. His companionship had been second to none, comforting, and coaxing. Someone who wouldn’t betray your confidence. So often, her mother had looked lonely even surrounded by people, people who admired her and wanted ever drop of attention they could milk out of her from the most sincere to sinister motivations.

With all that in mind, she’s really not surprised at the knock at her door. There’s only two people who come visit her up here.

It pales in comparison to Dunwall tower, but something about a tower feels magical. The inner child in her delights at the architecture even now. It seems strange to feel such ambivalent emotions at once, but she’s always been such a strange child.

Her mother meant it fondly, others did not.

“Come in.” Her voice is soft, but she knows Corvo wouldn’t enter without an invitation, a commitment to formality she really doesn’t like. He’s her best friend. Best friends shouldn’t knock.

He looks tired, but these days he always looked tired. Emily didn’t notice after the Golden Cat, too awed and in shock at his familiar sight that she couldn’t do nothing but be caught between glee and a scream. His eyes rove over her, searching as if he’s trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together.

Like he hasn’t quite figured out what shape it’s supposed to be yet.

“Emily.” His voice is gruff, and raw in places it hadn’t been before but it’s still one of the best sounds she’s ever heard. Corvo never used his voice very often, so it was always a treat when Emily had done something to make him say something.

More than anything, it’s a question. She’s gone and made Corvo concerned who because he’s Corvo knows how to read her like a well-worn book.

That makes her feel guilty, because she doesn’t want to concern Corvo. Emily already is so, so concerned these days about him not making it back because while she doesn’t entirely understand his missions, she knows they’re dangerous. She knows now more than anything that her love isn’t armor. The people she loves can die, and there’s nothing she can do about that.

A memory of pavilion comes back to her mind, still fresh all these months later because how could she forget? How could she forget the glint of steel piercing her mother’s stomach, the same stomach she had cried into so, so many times before only to be violently reminded of how flesh is soft and yielding to something so sharp and dangerous? How could she forget the spray of blood, tainting the white tiles like a paintbrush splattering red to a fresh canvas? But no, it wasn’t an art piece, it was her mother’s blood, and it was her mother’s life spilling over the tiles like a river of blood like the seas themselves had come back to claim the lands that had once been theirs.

When Emily comes to later, she doesn’t quite feel like she had been sleeping, but she feels groggy enough that it’s similar to waking too early. It feels like she’s coming back into her body after being in some faraway place. She first notes, her eyes, they feel raw as if she’d cried herself to sleep like she’d done in so many nights at the Golden Cat. Her cheeks feel warm instead of wet and it’s then she realizes she’d been enveloped by Corvo. A tight but soothing hug that is admittedly nice to come back to, she flexes her hands as they had felt sore as if she had been holding her fists for some time.

The way the fabric rustles, ever so softly in the silence of the room is proof enough for Emily she had balled together the fabric of Corvo’s cloak in her hand during her fit.

“Corvo?” She croaks, her voice is raw though muted against him.

The movement is immediate though it is gentle as to not stir her too much as he shifts away from her to give her more room to breathe but at the same time he seems too afraid to give her too much room.

“Did I scare you?” She asks, and it is probably entirely inappropriate but her mother’s not here to reprimand her anymore. It’s only her and Corvo. They’re what each other only has left now, there’s a void where her mother is supposed to be.

Maybe, the Void is where her mother’s at. Emily heard things about the Void before and the famed Outsider, her thoughts shouldn’t stray at a time like this but she’s never been good at keeping them in line. Corvo’s answer snaps her attention back in place however in a heartbeat.

“Yes.”

It’s hard to believe that she has any power at all to make anyone scared. There’s a dark part of her that delights at the feeling. She doesn’t like being afraid. She would love it if the people that frightened her were afraid sometimes.

But then, guilt. She never wants Corvo to be a target of that. She loves Corvo and Corvo loves her, he’s never had to say the words aloud before for her to know the truth.

“I’m sorry.” She confesses. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I…” He pauses, like he’s uncertain how to continue. Usually Corvo is so certain of his words when he only uses a few of them to begin with. “It happens sometimes when bad things happen to people. The mind gets sick.”

“Oh.” Emily’s not quite sure what to do with this information, it sounds important though. “Okay.”

The conversation comes to a standstill next, like neither of them are quite sure how to proceed but then quite rudely, might she add her stomach becomes a conversation starter. A very noticeable growl permeates through the awkward silence.

“You didn’t eat last night.” Corvo states, a reminder that he had been tallying her strange behavior and seemingly still had a few questions left.

“No, I didn’t.” Emily says in lieu of the real answer he’d been looking for. Reminded of her stomach, her hunger comes to her forethoughts, capitalizing anything else. It’s not that she wants to hide anything from Corvo necessarily, it’s just she doesn’t want to have this conversation right now.

She knows him, anyways. He won’t press her for more on an empty stomach however he’s also smart enough to know that she’s taking advantage of that. Corvo had never made the mistake of thinking her unintelligent just because she was a child. 

“I can bring something up.”

That’s not a bad compromise, she gets to eat, and doesn’t have to deal with anyone else. She’s greedy for Corvo’s presence and her inner rebel rejoices at a day, or at least a morning free of structure.

“Will you eat something, too?”

Corvo arches an eyebrow as if she’s just asked him a very odd question but Emily keeps tabs on him the best she can and knows he doesn’t always eat. “You skip meals.”

Rather than replying to that statement, as she expects, Corvo instead makes a noise of understanding. He gets the same look in his face when he’s figured out something that had been puzzling him. She had seen it enough time to commit it to memory.

Emily makes a face, she doesn’t understand.

“You see more than you let on.” He says like that’s an answer in itself. It all sounds very cryptic despite being seemingly straightforward. It seems like she’s missing something.

“Corvo.” She admonishes like the child she is.

“We’ll talk after breakfast.” It sounds like a promise so Emily just nods in return. A little lost for words with Corvo’s behavior as he heads out the door for said breakfast. Was this how he had felt yesterday when she’d acted as she had?

It wasn’t fun to be left guessing, but Corvo always kept his promises so she’d just have to wait.


End file.
